Claroscuro
by Misila
Summary: Series of unrelated drabbles featuring different characters. Today: Ranpo.
1. Nathaniel Hawthorne

_Bungou Stray Dogs_ doesn't belong to me.

These drabbles are written for inkstay's _Dare to Write_ challenge.

(Minor manga spoilers. You've been warned.)

* * *

 **Claroscuro**

.

 ** _epiphany_**

.

It's tearing you apart– seeing her laying in that hard bed, barely alive, unaware of what's happening around her anymore. Her bossy tone, her demands and complaints are no longer there, deathly pallor and painful silence all she is instead. Yet she keeps fighting, refusing to give up even though science has no hope for her.

But faith does. Not in God, not in the few doctors that agree with you about waiting _just a little longer, she'll wake up, I know she will_ ; but in her, in her strength and her strong will and her stubborn heart.

Yet days pass and she's still nearly dead, still unconscious and cold to touch. Still trapped in the aftermath of an attack that should be only your burden, unable to listen to all the words you realised too late you wanted her to know.

You need her back– you need her imposing presence, that elegance using her ability, her arrogant smirk. You need her in a way you have only ever needed God.

And like God, she sets her own moral compass.

Good no longer means empathy, solidarity. Good means doing what is necessary to bring her back.

Even killing, even helping that detestable rat. Anything as long as it heals her.

After all, everyone knows God can justify any cruelty.


	2. Osamu Dazai

_**immortality**_

.

Dazai doesn't remember how many times he's tried to die. He lost count long ago; there have been too many attempts, too many failures, too many nights glaring at the ceiling in frustration because the aftermath is always the most painful and bothersome part and his body won't listen to him and insist on healing.

"What if I can't die because I'm immortal?" he asked Chuuya one night, carrying him on his back and trying not to slip on the blood splattered on the ground, even though his partner was most likely unconscious after using his ability to his limit once again.

A grunt coming from somewhere close to his left ear proved him wrong.

"You're a lucky idiot, that's what you are."

Dazai tripped over a leg that had once been attached to a body. He wanted to leave the place as soon as possible; the smell of death always made him nauseous after surrounding him for a while.

"I'd be lucky if I actually managed to die, don't you think?"

Chuuya's arms tensed around his neck. "I can solve that." After a second, though, he dropped his limbs over Dazai's shoulders. "But it's not worth it," he muttered. "I'd have to walk."

Eyebrow raised, Dazai turned his head to look at the mop of hair that was all he could see when his partner had his face buried into Dazai's shoulder like that. The fiery locks were dirty, messy and stained with blood that probably belonged to Chuuya himself.

"You are making a mess of my coat," he pointed out.

"Bad luck, vagabond."

Dazai briefly considered leaving Chuuya there. It wouldn't be the first time, and dealing with a potentially angry Chuuya was easy when one knew his moves by heart. The only problem was they had let some people escape the slaughter and being annoying was about the most dangerous thing Chuuya could do at the moment; Mori wouldn't be happy if half his most precious weapon suffered the survivors' revenge.

Dazai groaned, started walking faster. Chuuya didn't deserve such a considerate partner.

"You're not immortal." The words, though hoarse, sounded unexpectedly soft, and Dazai knew Chuuya was drifting off. "You're just important for the right people."


	3. Tanizaki siblings

_**teenage crimes**_

.

The first time they kissed, they both were aware it was wrong.

The second time they kissed, they were more afraid of ideas stuffed into their heads since they were little suffocating them than of their parents finding out.

Yet somewhere along the way it stopped mattering. They wanted it, it felt good, and the world and its absurd morals could be damned. Happening to share more DNA than most couples was just a minor inconvenient; and if they didn't care, why mattered what anybody else thought?

They loved each other. That was what siblings were supposed to do. Why should they stop it, just because that love wasn't the kind society deemed acceptable?

They were young. They were in love. According to many people, they were sinners, almost criminals.

They didn't care.

* * *

 _Author's note_ : I'm forcing myself to write about every BSD character, not only the ones I like better/find easier to write (because that's the idea of these drabbles to begin with), so I'm sorry if I mess things up.


	4. Atsushi Nakajima

_**nightmares**_

.

Atsushi jolts awake gasping for air and he's all pain in the chest and uncooperative lungs and nails that scratch his arms so hard he fears they've become claws during his sleep. He looks around, winces at the darkness clinging to his limbs and scrambles to grab his phone and light up the screen.

Only when the tremulous light reaches the corners of the room, making it clear that there is nobody that shouldn't be there, no actual person shouting the words he carries engraved in his heart, Atsushi is able to breathe in without feeling the air is poison for his lungs; the phone falls from his hand as he hugs his legs and rests his head on his knees, silent sobs shaking his entire form as his pulse slows down.

When it's not _Rashomon_ piercing his body, it's any of the many bad memories the orphanage gave him. Lately they seem to merge to knock the air out of Atsushi's lungs.

And the worst part is he should be used to this. He should have accepted the nightmares long ago, should have learnt to stop letting them affect him this way. They have been here for so long that even as he dreams Atsushi can predict what will happen.

But knowing doesn't make his dreams less terrifying.

Atsushi only notices Kyouka's presence next to him when her little hand lands cautiously on his shoulder. He swallows down, tries to be silent, because there are many things Kyouka already worries about to be another nuisance.

"I have them too," she whispers, though.

Atsushi bites on his lower lip, but he can't supress a whimper. "It's alright. I'm just less tired than usual." Since he started working at the Agency Atsushi has come to realise that usually the more he exhausts himself, the better he sleeps. Empty dreams are better than nightmares. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Kyouka's fingers dig into his shoulder when she grabs it tighter. "I wasn't sleeping." Atsushi wishes the knowledge didn't make him feel a bit better, but it does. "I don't want to go back to sleep now."

Atsushi swallows the lump in his throat.

"We could make some tea, then," he weakly suggests.

Kyouka's hand quickly vanishes, leaving Atsushi alone with almost silent steps. The protest gets stuck in his throat when he realises it's Kyouka's subtle way of letting him some space so he can get a hold on himself; Atsushi extends his legs and wipes at his eyes to get rid of the remnants of tears.

The nightmares won't stop; he knows that much. But sometimes he doesn't have to deal with them alone.


	5. Ougai Mori

_**the language of blood**_

.

If there is someone who knows the sound of blood, it is Ougai Mori. It comes to him easily, something halfway between music and words everyone can hear but very few are able to understand. Like a mother tongue he assimilated as easily as the air he breathes.

He knows where to cut to kill without inflicting pain, he knows the most painful but not lethal points. Not only that– he knows where to push to shed anyone's blood, knows the words he has to pronounce and the tone he has to put in them to dirty other people's hands and benefit from their foolishness.

It's not his ability, but he has a natural talent to speak the language of blood. A gift that, in his hands, has become the subtlest of arts.


	6. Kyouka Izumi

_**fool's hope**_

.

 _Kouyou was right._

As she waits for her death, that simple thought hammers insistently on her skull, over and over again, like a bell ringing and echoing in her head.

Kyouka supposes it'll stop when she dies.

The thought isn't scary. Not anymore. It's for the best; she's a murderer, killing is all she is able to do, what she was made for. Saving people is something she just wasn't born for, the way she could never fly or swim to the depths of the sea because she is neither a dove nor a fish.

 _Kouyou was right._

A flower born in the darkness can only survive in the darkness.

But she doesn't want darkness, not after knowing there are more possibilities.

 _Kouyou was right._

Being in the side that saves lives is beyond her reach. Believing otherwise was foolish.

The world will be a better place without dealing with her wreaking havoc.

Kyouka doesn't cry. Crying is for children who refuse to acknowledge reality; she knows the only path left for her. The only thing bothering her is the cold– and as she curls up further into herself she hopes it ends soon. The hum of the engine cradles her and she wonders what her parents would think if they saw her.

Not that it matters anymore. Kyouka closes her eyes, leans her head between her knees and hopes she can sleep until the moment comes.

But then, a voice cuts through the silence.

"Hey, Kyouka-chan, can you hear me?"


	7. Ranpo Edogawa

_**the candy shop around the corner**_

.

The candy shop around the corner is the closest place to heaven Ranpo knows.

It overflows with colour, with all kind of sweet and delicious candy that is equally attractive for eyes and tongue. A yellow, red, green paradise that is not only for children.

Every day, before walking into the Agency, Ranpo stops by and makes sure his reserve of snack is full; his ability works better when his mouth still tastes sweet. Still, almost always he has to send Haruno to buy some more, because they are just too delicious and great detectives don't need self-control anyway.

But today, Ranpo hasn't bought anything in the candy shop around the corner. He has been moody all day, attracting curious glances from his colleagues.

Only Kenji dares ask him what's wrong, his innocence impermeable to Ranpo's glare.

"Is something wrong, Ranpo-san?"

Ranpo crosses his arms over the desk, leans his cheek on them.

"Nothing."

It's not like he can just say he got cavities. He doesn't need his ability to know how Yosano would fix them.


End file.
